Ripped from the Headlines
by tutus portus
Summary: Everyone is challenged to find equilibrium again, after a school shooting at Cal Sci.


**Ripped from the Headlines**

by tutus portus

_This work of fan fiction regarding the CBS television series "Numb3rs" contains the usual disclaimers and is not written for profit. This fic concerns a serious subject matter and should not be taken lightly. It is a work of fiction, not a documentation of any one event, and no offense is intended to any reader who may have a personal connection to any like "real-life" tragedy. _

**.............................................................................**

Colby was pale when he tracked Don down in the break room. His voice cracked when he spoke. "Don."

Don looked up from the latest copy of _The FBI Law Enforcement Bulletin_, which he had been reading while he waited for his leftovers (courtesy of Alan) to finish heating in the microwave. He frowned slightly at Granger's appearance and lowered the magazine to the table. He started to push back his chair in preparation for standing. "You feeling all right, Colby?"

The junior agent held his gaze for a brief moment, and then flicked his eyes away, toward the refrigerator. "ATF needs some help."

Now that he was standing, Don could see David standing in the hall behind Colby, who was hovering in the doorway. David looked quickly down at his feet, and Don tried his best to ignore the signals his gut was sending him. "The rest of us can handle it if you're not feeling well, Granger," he said. He found himself lowering his own eyes, fixating on a bottle of water that stood on the table. "Maybe you should knock off early today."

Colby cleared his throat, but Don refused to look up. "I'm...I'm good, Don." A millisecond of silence passed between them. "Listen," Granger continued, "I'm sorry."

Don had been starving for his father's _chicken a la king_ five minutes earlier, but now, even as the microwaved _dinged_ to signal that its heating was complete, he thought he might throw up instead. He swallowed thickly, took a deep breath and raised his gaze to meet Colby's. His voice didn't even waver when he said it. "Tell me," he commanded.

David spoke from his position behind Colby, somehow managing to maintain a detached businesslike tone and sympathy at the same time. "There's been a shooting at Cal Sci."

Don felt his knees almost buckle, but he kept his feet under him. "Charlie?"

Colby shook his head. "We don't know. ATF is onsite already, but all they said was a 'brief, rapid fire assault'. Somebody let fly in one of the big science lecture halls; they need help containing the scene and conducting the investigation."

Science. At Cal Sci, math was considered a science. Charlie's classes were popular, and often had to be scheduled for one of the larger halls. Don started walking toward his agents while he pulled his cell phone off the waistband of his jeans.

"He's not answering," David informed him. "We both tried, already. Voice mail."

Don swore and almost missed Colby's contribution. "Amita and Larry, too."

David took over again. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything," he pointed out. "I'm sure it's a circus right now on campus."

"Right," Colby agreed.

"Yeah," Don breathed, striding toward the elevator. "Right." He pushed the button for the lift and Charlie's speed dial at the same time.

**....................................................................**

Although reluctant to leave their SAC on his own to discover whatever grisly truth he might, Colby and David reported to the ATF command center upon arrival at Cal Sci; Liz and Nikki had already checked in, and were helping interview potential witnesses, while the ATF agents concentrated on gathering evidence.

Charlie still was not answering his phone, and Don jogged first toward his brother's office on the third floor of the math and sciences building. The incident had occurred on the first floor, and a great deal of it was roped off. Shell-shocked students were standing around in huddles outside the yellow crime scene tape, and Don had some difficulty reaching the stairs. When he did, he took them three at a time, bursting from the stairwell and almost knocking over Larry Fleinhardt. Don skidded to a halt, momentarily stunned. "Larry," he finally grunted, latching onto the physicist's upper arm. "Larry!"

Professor Fleinhardt regarded Don with wide, startled eyes. "I have not been able to locate Charles," he said breathlessly. "I just came from his office. Amita's is also empty."

Don's heart fell. "What the hell happened?"

Larry shook his head. "The rumor mill is that a young man simply walked into one of the lecture halls halfway through class, and started spraying the room with bullets. I heard he was dressed in camouflage, with several ammunition belts draped over his body. I have no official news, of course."

Don's cell rang, and he tightened his grip on Larry's arm. _Charlie!_ he thought, even though it was not his brother's ringtone. In one motion he flipped the phone open and jammed it to his ear. "Charlie?" he asked, hopefully.

"He's okay." Liz's voice was calm and steady, and Don let go of Larry's arm, running his free hand through his hair and waiting for details. "I'm interviewing witnesses in 107," she continued. "Charlie's here; it was his classroom."

Don frowned and clutched the phone more tightly. "You sure he's okay?"

"Laceration on his right cheek," Liz amended. "The medics took a splinter out, so it looks like one of the rounds hit the casing of the blackboard, or his desk; something wooden, and he caught the shrapnel. Doesn't even need stitches," she assured him.

Don turned and headed back down the stairwell, Larry following closely behind. "Can you put him on?"

A few seconds later, Charlie's shaky voice came on the line. "Donny?"

Don smiled. "Hey, Buddy. I'm on my way; just hang on."

Charlie's fight for control was almost palpable. "I'm okay," he insisted. "Is Amita all right?"

Don's step slowed. "Amita? I haven't seen her; Larry's with me, though."

Charlie's breathing became more erratic. "Please, I..I think you should look for Amita. Maybe someone took her again. Please."

His voice cracked on the last word, and Don briefly closed his eyes in sympathy. "It's okay, Chuck. I'm sure she's around here somewhere; it's kind-of a madhouse right now. Nobody took her."

"C-could you look?" Charlie asked plaintively, and Don found himself quite unable to deny his brother. "Yeah," he soothed. "You just hang in. Larry and I will find her."

**..........................................................................**

Amita sat on the floor of the storage room, surrounded by ink cartridges and boxes of paper, and could not stop shaking.

Today was the day of Charlie's famous "Math for Dummies" lecture, and she liked to sit in whenever she could. Ever since she had first heard it as a student, she loved that lecture. She had never been a "math dummy" herself, of course, but it was always exciting to watch those who believed they were react to Charlie's presentation. Some students just made peace with math; some actually fell in love for the first time. The lecture changed just enough every year to stay fresh, and interesting. Now that she was a professor herself, she considered sitting in a responsibility, a way to keep her aware of and linked to students who had not, as of yet, embraced all that numbers offered. Unfortunately, today's lecture corresponded to her posted office hours. She could hardly turn away a student seeking help in order to scurry to a lecture she had already heard seven times. Still, as soon as the student left -- with a clearer understanding of the astrophysical use of the principal component analysis of imperfect data -- Amita had locked up her office and headed downstairs for the second half of Charlie's presentation. She had descended the stairs and headed for the lecture hall, rounding the last corner just in time to watch a young man in camouflage clothing, covered in ammunition belts, heft a rifle in his hand while he looked from one classroom door to another, apparently trying to decide which one to enter.

She froze for a moment, and then self-preservation instincts kicked in, and she backed around the corner she had just taken. She fumbled for her cell phone as she looked wildly around for somewhere to hide. Spying the storage closet, her choice was clear. Thank God she had brought her keys with her, and was able to unlock the door. Soon, she was on the floor, trying to arrange the boxes in a barricade around herself and whispering into her cell to campus security. Before she was finished speaking to them, gunfire could be heard echoing in the halls, followed by screams, running feet...Amita dropped her phone and cowered in her corner, and tried not to think of the last time.

**..............................................................................**

Amita's shattered phone continued to offer Don voice mail capabilities. It was a testament to his own shaky state of mind that it took him almost ten minutes to think of calling the office, and asking a tech to track her phone's GPS chip. Larry regarded him with awe until the GPS was tracked to the campus of Cal Sci; more specifically, the very building they were searching. Then he started to tug one ear. "Oh, dear. That wasn't much help at all, now, was it?"

Don tossed him a murderous look before he suggested that they split up. "Start down here, where everything is craziest," he suggested. "The perp offed himself, and ATF cleared the building already, so open every door that's unlocked. Work your way upstairs."

Larry nodded and dangled a set of keys in front of Don. "Should I unlock the ones I can? Storage, things of that nature."

Don nodded briskly, noting a storage closet just a few feet away from where they stood; they had almost been to the science lecture hall where the shooting occurred when Don had stopped and called in the GPS. "Start with that one," he said, waiting for Larry to approach the door.

The physicist started to insert a key into the lock when he frowned, turning to look at Don. "That's odd," he noted. "This door is already unlocked."

Don reached out and turned the handle, elbowing Larry out of the way despite his earlier assurances that the building was safe. Larry snuck a hand under Don's elbow and flipped on a light switch. As it was, Amita had arranged the boxes surrounding her very well. If she hadn't sniffed, and then sneezed, Don and Larry may not have found her at all.

**..............................................................................**

Charlie fingered the butterfly bandage on his cheek and tried to answer Liz's question. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I didn't recognize him. It happened so quickly…and students aren't usually attired in battle gear and ammo when I see them."

Liz nodded, picking up a file folder she had placed on a nearby chair when she and Charlie sat down. Reaching inside, she withdrew a photo. She held it so that Charlie could not see, saying, "I have his annual photograph from last year; several of the students were able to ID him. This is all administration could find."

She turned the photo around, and Charlie dropped his hand from his cheek. His hand fell limply into his lap and he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Th- that's Mark Addis," he said quietly.

Liz nodded again. "Do you recognize him now?"

Charlie looked away from the photo, toward Nikki and a young woman she was interviewing, several feet away. "Yes," he whispered.

Liz placed the photo back into the file and dropped the folder back onto the chair. "Can you think of any reason he would do this?"

Charlie blinked at Nikki and then turned back to face Liz. "This is all my fault," he answered despondently.

Liz frowned. "What do you mean?"

Charlie's gaze started to wander around the room. Several of the students sported evidence of first aid, as he did. "How many?"

Liz understood exactly what he was asking – and that there was no point in not answering. It would be all over the news soon enough. "Twenty-two were injured," she informed him gently. "Three students were DOA, and two more are critical at the hospital. The rest are in this room."

"God," Charlie choked, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he looked back at Liz, those eyes shone with unshed tears. "I failed him, last semester. He came to my office and begged me not to – begged. Literally, on his knees. He said that his father would kill him if Cal Sci dropped him from the applied mathematics program."

Liz scribbled a few notes. "Would the university do that, for failing one course?" she asked.

Charlie shook his head, and one of the hot tears flew out of his left eye. "No; Mark was in his junior year, and he spent both his freshman and sophomore years on academic probation. The course he failed this year was one he also failed last year – he was retaking it. It was his last chance, and he knew…"

A movement at the door caught his attention. Don was escorting Amita toward him, with Larry trailing behind. Charlie stood from his chair, no longer trying to control his tears, and walked rapidly toward her. "Amita!" he cried, wrapping her within his embrace. He pulled back far enough to kiss her, leaving the remnants of his tears sparkling in her hair like diamonds. "Amita," he whispered again when they broke off the kiss. "I thought I'd lost you!"

She smiled tremulously as she reached up to lightly touch the butterfly on his wounded cheek. "You'll never lose me," she promised, and then nestled into his arms once more.

**…………………………………………………...........**

Amita sat so close to Charlie on the couch, she was practically in his lap. Some part of them was always connected. They were holding hands, or smoothing each other's hair, or touching one another's leg. Don followed his father out of the kitchen, carrying a carafe of coffee, and smiled when he saw them.

Larry was perched on the edge of an ottoman facing the couch, a glass of milk already in his hand. "Charles," he was saying, "you mustn't blame yourself. Mr. Addis was afforded ample opportunity for assistance during the first two years of his education at Cal Sci. I'm sure you spoke to him regarding study groups, tutors – not to mention being available to him during your own office hours. Do I speak the truth?"

Charlie sighed. "Obviously, those things weren't enough."

"I'm not even sure I want to teach, anymore," Amita announced, shocking everyone in the room. "It entails so much more than I thought it would; students are so much more...potentially volatile." She sniffed. "It's the subject matter I love, not the responsibility of being some kind of role model, or mentor. I could be happy working in a think tank...or any number of other occupations."

Larry sighed. "I certainly understand that point of view, my dear. Yet, when I think of all I would have missed, on the road not taken..." He smiled, fondly. "Charles, for example. Had I not been teaching at Princeton when he matriculated, I would have missed not only one of the brightest minds of our time, but also my best friend."

Charlie draped an arm around Amita's shoulders. "I don't know," he began pensively. "How many Oswald Kittners does it take to equal one Mark Addis? For the first time in my life, I can't do the math."

His observation effectively silenced everyone in the room except Alan, who stood frowning at the end of the couch, his hands on his hips. "That's enough," he interjected gruffly. He turned slightly to more fully face his youngest son and his fiance. "Charlie, Amita -- no-one disagrees that you survived a horrible experience today." He smiled almost apologetically at Amita, who was looking up at him. "Sweetheart, you could work at McDonald's, or the post office, or almost anywhere else, in this day-and-age, and find yourself in the same situation. It's unfortunate, sad, tragic -- but violence is an undeniable fact." He turned his attention to Charlie. "Son, did you teach this young man to the best of your ability?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

Alan gentled his tone at the "sir", and moved one hand to lovingly caress the back of his son's head, refusing to think about how close he had come to losing him. There would be time enough for that later, when he lay awake all night staring at the ceiling, he knew. Now was a time that demanded something else from him. "Then you have to accept," he continued, "that any further responsibility lies with Mark. It was his decision to choose the course of action that he did, and you need to let him own that." He sighed and glanced at Don, and shook his head. "It wouldn't hurt you to listen to this advice either, my son."

Don looked startled, and a tad affronted. His eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Hey! How did _I_ get in trouble, here?"

His protest served to lighten the mood, and Alan smiled at him. "If I thought I could get away with it," he confessed, "I would break out the bubblewrap in a second, and try to protect everyone in this room from everything." He shrugged, looking again at Charlie. "But I learned long ago that the best I can do is teach you, to the best of my ability, how to protect yourselves -- and I'm not speaking just about self-defense; fisticuffs and lethal weapons. I've tried to instill in you boys the wherewithal it takes to get kicked in the gut, pick yourself up, and start all over again."

"I believe those are the lyrics to a song," Larry teased, and everyone chuckled.

When the laughter died, Charlie smiled at his father and drew Amita even closer to him on the couch. "Thanks, Dad. You've always been the best teacher in this room."

Alan blushed, embarrassed, yet pleased. "Nonsense," he muttered, moving back towards the kitchen. "Don, come and help me with the pie."

Amita nestled into Charlie and watched the two men walk away. "I love your father," she murmured.

"Indeed," Larry seconded. "He is a very wise man."

Charlie nodded in silent agreement, and then grinned. "Not only that," he shared proudly, "he makes really good pie!"

**...........................................................................................**

The End


End file.
